My Favourite Memories of Baseball

I could see my breath that day. The day my dad took me to see the Toronto Blue Jays swing their bats, fly their balls, and run bases at the outdoor stadium. The experience lives now only in my memories. Dad is long gone, but the smell of hot dogs, popcorn, and hot chocolate still fills the air within my memories. Peanuts crushed under foot after being shelled, one after another, consumed absently. They can still be found at ballparks, and a few bars, but for me, they too live where the past resides. Aromas and sounds that instantaneously transport me back in time. They are my favourite memories of baseball.

The stadium moved long ago. Bitter days now require a covered roof to allow games to be observed in comfort. My heart still yearns for the old games held outdoors, on metal benches where the stamping of feet shouted joy to save ice-cold hands from clapping. Where a father’s arm offered affectionate warmth and comfort. 

There were probably a hundred grumpy people around me, sitting huddled, arms folded, yet, in my memory, it was my dad and I surrounded by cheering fans, enjoying the rich aroma that only comes from warm paper cups filled with steamy rich chocolate and tiny marshmallows. Red dotted noses, rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes are the images dancing across the threads of my memory banks.

I remember not if they won or lost, and it matters not. The joy still lingers some forty-plus years later. A girl, her dad and a game. It wasn’t our first, but it was our last.